


All I've Ever Learned From Love

by pipperkipper



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16589480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipperkipper/pseuds/pipperkipper
Summary: A collection of stories primarily focused on the Rogue One crew, inspired by lyrics from various songs.





	1. Too Late to Turn Back Now

**Author's Note:**

> Collection title is from Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen. Again. I know.
> 
> Title is from Too Late to Turn Back Now by the Cornelius Brothers & Sister Rose.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

It had been a long time since Jyn had last danced, if it could even be called dancing. She’d been young, no more than five, standing on her father’s feet as they moved around their Coruscant apartment. It was one of those rare, happy nights where nothing lurked in the shadows and her parents were only focused on her and each other.

She remembered the tune, upbeat and happy, the words she hadn’t been able to comprehend tumbling out of her father’s soothing baritone. In the years since, she’d rarely thought of it, certainly not enough to find it again. Music, especially one specific song over a decade and a half old, didn’t matter when surviving was hard enough.

She was therefore shocked when, in the middle of an undercover mission on Coruscant, it started playing in their hotel room.

Through the fresher door, she heard Cassian singing quietly along. She’d quickly learned during their numerous missions together that he enjoyed music, that having a song playing in the background helped him think and settle. The first time he’d played a song on the ship, she’d jumped, then told him it was fine when he offered to turn it off. Since then, she’d enjoyed the piece of himself he shared so openly with her.

This song, though.

Jyn stepped out of the fresher, hands fisted in the towel wrapped around her. The music washed over her, as vibrant and joyous as she remembered it. For a few moments she stood there, just outside the fresher door, trying to stay her hands as she embraced the song and the memories. Those days were long gone, never to happen again, but Cassian—

Cassian knew this song. Enough to have it in his collection and sing along with. She could ask him to sing it to her, to teach her the words, to play it over and over until it was the rhythm her heart beat to.

She could ask him to dance with her.

“Jyn?” Cassian asked, pulling her out of her mind. He was smiling, though not much, his brows furrowed as concern slowly started to spread.

Would he mind, if she asked him those things? Would he do it?

He would, in a heartbeat.

“Can you play that song again?”

Cassian blinked but nodded, starting the song again. She could feel him watching her as she moved about the room, swaying ever so slightly as she became more sure of the melody. When the chorus hit, she reached towards him, a silent offer. Cassian grinned, taking her hand.

There was no grace to their dance, no perfected steps. They moved together and apart, laughing when they stepped on each other’s toes, their eyes locked on only each other. There were things they still needed to do today, things that took higher precedence than dancing in their hotel room, but they had some time. Not much, but enough.


	2. Whispers Hello, I Miss You Quite Terribly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After seeing how these two went, and how the others I've started are going, I'd say stories are usually going to be in the 250-1,000 word range.  
> Title is from Here (In Your Arms) by Hellogoodbye.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

It was one thing to come home after four months exhausted, covered in layers of grime and blood, and fall into bed.

It was another to come home after four months exhausted, covered in layers of grime and blood, and not have your partner there.

Jyn liked the Pathfinders. They were rowdy and bold, a bit like the Partisans but also not. They were dedicated to the cause and treated everyone like family, but there was something easier in the way they interacted. More carefree or relaxed, not having to worry about the Lion of Onderon lurking and growling over their shoulders. Still, their time away was miserable, particularly when her time on base overlapped with one of Cassian’s missions.

She swore Draven did it on purpose.

The room was immaculate, something to be expected of Cassian. Though they were both tidy people, Cassian was a bit neater, better at straightening the bedsheets into perfect corners and positioning the desk so everything sitting on it was perfectly spaced and lined up. Seeing everything positioned as he’d left it pulled a chord in her, and it twanged when she opened the wardrobe and found it empty.

A long mission, then.

Jyn sighed and unpacked her duffle.

* * *

Cassian was fairly certain K-2 was going to slap him if he wasn’t careful. Their ride back to Base had largely consisted of solving different calculations to pass the time, right up until K-2 said, “It appears the Pathfinders have arrived back on Base. There are no records of Jyn Erso in medbay.”

After that, the calculations had dropped significantly. Where they’d been shooting them back and forth in rapid fire, now it was a miracle if Cassian was anywhere near correct, or responded at all. He knew it bothered Kay when he was “significantly distracted” by Jyn, but after four months away, it was hard not to be excited knowing she’d be waiting for him.

That still didn’t mean K-2 wouldn’t slap him.

“You have been fidgeting for eight minutes and thirty seven seconds. Approximately ninety-two percent of that time has involved jostling your leg. It is annoying and I request that you cease doing so.”

Cassian stilled, eyeing the chrono. Two hours and twelve minutes until they landed. He could make it.

* * *

Jyn nearly slipped off the chair when the door opened.

“There’s a perfectly good bed, you know,” Cassian said, smiling. Jyn’s heart leapt into her throat at the sound, her eyes scanning every inch of him. No obvious limp, nor did he appear to be concealing one. His shoulders were a bit tense, but his face was smooth and alight. And red on one cheek.

“Finishing my report,” she said, setting the datapad down and walking towards him. “Why is your cheek red?”

There was something bright in his eyes, tracing her and offering a thousand words. _Excited_ and _relieved_ and _yearning_ and _happy_ and _home_. Still, there was the faintest hint of embarrassment, too, especially as she gently touched his cheek.

“I might have annoyed Kay on the ride back.” He ducked his head, eyes flicking to hers. “I was fidgeting too much.”

“Fidgeting?”

“I was a bit impatient, once I knew you were here.”

“Careful, Captain,” Jyn said, grinning, “or you might start sounding like me.”

Cassian paused. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

The question startled Jyn. Wasn’t that something couples did, rub off on each other and become similar? Her parents had been like that a bit, distinct and independent for the most part, but in the quiet moments, their personalities merged and overlapped. Mama would say something that Papa normally would’ve said, or he made a gesture that was entirely Lyra. Would she and Cassian follow a similar path? Would they start crossing in the middle?

It wouldn’t be awful, having that with him.

“No,” she said softly. “It wouldn’t.”


	3. Where Do We Begin, the Rubble or Our Sins?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Pompeii by Bastille.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

There is only sand and rock where the Temple once was, nothing to distinguish it from the rest of the city and the desert beyond. Despite several decades wandering and guarding the halls of the Temple, Baze doesn’t realize they’re on top of it until Chirrut tells him.

That he’d almost walked past it entirely — something sharp echoes in his chest, and it is not longing.

“There is nothing?” Chirrut asks, a gentle probe to draw Baze’s focus outward.

It works only for a heartbeat.

“Nothing,” he says, staring at the ground beneath him. Which spot of the Temple was he in? One of the many hallways? A training room, or their room? Perhaps there was a room he’d never stepped in, and that is why he did not recognize the earth beneath him. (A lie. Baze knew every inch of the Temple, would spend months studying a single room so that he could better protect it. Not that it’d helped him in the end.)

He looks about, and for once Baze feels overwhelmed. It was new and ragged, cutting through him like a dull blade. When he’d first joined the Temple, he had not been overwhelmed. It hadn’t mattered how much training there was, or how much studying. When he’d started, he’d taken everything in stride. And then when it was taken from them by the Empire, he had not been overwhelmed then, either. Sad, of course, and guilty and confused and a hundred other things, but the emotions had never overwhelmed him. They could’ve, between one heartbeat and the next they could’ve a hundred thousand times, but they hadn’t.

One step. He’d always taken things with one simple step.

There were too many steps to take now, too many options. Did they start trying to rebuild the Temple, two old guardians who’d survived impossibility and ached if the wind blew just so? Did they look for acolytes, younger minds to instill their teachings, like Skywalker but different?

Did they keep the Temple here, on Jedha, where even the city had not begun to rebuild? And what if the city didn’t rebuild? What then?

For a man who’d survived Scarif, he was beginning to think that that was not the most impossible thing.

“A temple is not just walls,” Chirrut calls. Baze blinks. He is never surprised anymore when Chirrut is able to pick apart his thoughts, is in fact extremely grateful for it.

“Acolytes, then?”

Chirrut nods, then turns and smiles at Baze. There is mischief in that smile, a call to adventure and a promise for trouble. It is a face Baze has seen nearly every day for decades, and it still thrills and terrifies him. It is a step, one that he will follow.


	4. Have All the Songs Been Written?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Have All the Songs Been Written? by the Killers.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

On the flight to Scarif, in the belly of the ship, the Rebels started to sing.

Jyn startled at the sound. She’d thought it’d been another sound from the ship, but there were distinct words, and the noise was growing louder as more joined in.

“Is that singing?” Bodhi asked, spinning to look at her. Jyn, equally confused, shrugged and turned to Cassian. He was unsurprised, his head tilted slightly towards the ladder, as if to better hear the sound below.

“Singing implies a tune and vocal techniques,” K-2 said. “I would not qualify that noise as singing.”

“Kay,” Cassian chided. He looked at Bodhi. “It’s not uncommon for Rebels to sing on the way to battle. It’s good for morale.”

Bodhi nodded, though Jyn knew he was still as perplexed by the idea as she was.

Morale in the Partisans hadn’t been… this. They swapped stories and drinks, sparred and coached and fought together, but singing? On the way to battle? Saw would’ve killed them for such an act. It didn’t matter if they were en route and alone. The time before battle was for focusing on one’s hatred for the Empire, for sharpening blades and polishing blasters. It was not a moment of camaraderie. The only bit of that before battle were their grim looks and begrudging respect for one another as Partisans.

But the Rebels sang, as if it didn’t matter that this could be the end, that the odds were impossibly stacked and their plan was shaky at best. She heard Melshi and Sefla singing over one another and Rostock laughing. Were they all participating? Calfor and Pao, and all the others, were they singing off key and finding something like hope in it?

Did they know that the next song the Rebellion wrote could be about them?

Would the people singing their song know their names? Would they know Erso and Andor and Rook, K-2SO and Îmwe and Malbus? What about Basteren and Kappehl and Caserich and Mefran and Tonc?

Would there even be a song written about them?

There had to be, didn’t there? Stories and songs were written about heroes, were passed on as figures of bravery and courage and hope. That’s what they were, after all. Heroes. It didn’t matter if Jyn had never considered anything she’d ever done heroic, or that Cassian would classify himself a villain for whatever he’d been ordered to do in the past. Chirrut might call himself a hero for the fun of it, but Baze would sooner blast the phrase with his repeater canon then be associated with it. Bodhi was a hero though he’d probably be too embarrassed to embrace the title.

Would the Rebellion tell their story? Would there be a song that told the tale of Rogue One and inspired bravery and courage and, above all, hope?

Something touched her hand, rough but warm. Cassian’s hand. There was no judgement in his eyes when she looked, no question of what she was thinking or demand to know. Perhaps he was only offering her comfort and a chance to escape her thoughts. Perhaps he knew exactly what she was thinking. Perhaps he knew that their chances of being remembered rested on their chances of success, and their chances of success rested on things as small as their morale and their hope.

Jyn squeezed Cassian’s hand, and listened, and hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite song titles ever and honestly I'm just so happy that I was able to write a fic to it because I didn't think it would happen.


	5. I Thought I Was Flying But Maybe I'm Dying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from Sky Full of Song by Florence + the Machine.
> 
> A short one this week because I’ve been very sick and a little depressed and it has not been a fun time.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Luke Skywalker is interesting. He’s young and naive and optimistic and funny and brave and wiser than he seems. He talks to everyone like they’re the most fascinating person he’s ever met, his eyes wide and his tone joyful. He asks questions that are unusual but charming.

Bodhi isn’t certain what to make of him.

Bodhi’s never been great with people. He gets along with everyone, something he attributes to his awkward but kind demeanor, but he doesn’t really connect with a lot of them. It makes sense that the five people he’s closest to are all similar to him, somewhat cut off from the masses at large. But unlike them, he wishes he were a bit better with people. The others are devoted entirely to each other and perfectly content, but he longs.

It is an awful, traitorous feeling, but also one that makes sense.

Unlike the others, who have jobs that are more intended for smaller groups or positions of command, pilots are the opposite. There are teams for the fighters and partners for the cargo carriers, but these lines are fluid. There are things that they can learn from each other, new techniques that are being developed all the time and new mechanisms that make it smoother or faster. It’s a group effort, constantly learning and developing side by side. Empire or Rebellion, it didn’t change that there was a way pilots behaved among each other, and that way was as a giant, connected group.

A group he had barely been part of once, and was even less part of now.

But then there was Luke.

Luke, who could make anyone feel welcome. Luke, who engaged with everyone. Luke, who was full of hope.

And it was this, the infectious energy, the encouraging smile, that ensured Bodhi was not surprised when Luke walked up to him and said, “You’re Bodhi. You’re the pilot,” but warm and humbled and welcome.


	6. Let's Be Winners By Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I'm back for the foreseeable future. These past two months have been insane. I was either sick or traveling, and the handful of days where I wasn't sick or traveling, I had terrible writer's block. So it's been great. I'm going to try and catch up to get this back to where I can post one every Sunday, though.
> 
> Title from Sinners by Lauren Aquilina.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

“When,” Cassian said, flopping down on the bed, “did we get that much stuff?”

Jyn grimaced. Neither she nor Cassian had ever been materialistic. They’d grown up with little more than love and pain, and during the war, the objects owned between them barely filled a trunk.

Now, though.

Now they had a place they could fill with odds and ends, where they didn’t have to worry about packing last second. Things fell between the cracks, completely forgotten and never to be seen again. It was odd, how domestic they’d become in only a few years. How they could indulge in luxuries and not feel too guilty.

“Might have to rearrange the house,” Jyn mused. “Find all the things that are in odd places.”

Cassian snorted. “Jeron’s doing an excellent job already.”

It was, perhaps, the greatest understatement Jyn had ever heard. For a toddler, Jeron was fast and crafty. He’d waited until only one of them was in the room before yanking things from one shelf, then had appeared in a different room to wreck havoc and pull items they hadn’t seen in several years from mysterious nooks.

Cassian had said he got it from her. Jyn hadn’t argued.

Yet despite the mess and time it took to reorganize everything it had been… enjoyable. Not fun, because there was never anything fun about a giant mess, but they’d managed to laugh through it. They were a team, always, even when they were exhausted and being outwitted by a two year old at every turn. It was far, far more than Jyn had ever thought she could hope for, let alone dared to.

“You’re certain you want a second?” They’d bounced the idea around for a few months now, far more encouraged on days where Jeron was sweet and lovable than on days like this, but even days like this were deterring Jyn less and less. She didn’t necessarily want another kid, more than happy to live in this little world with her boys, but she knew Cassian wanted more, and she was reluctant to deny him anything, especially when his eyes lit up like they just had.

“Yes,” he said, the word breathy and filled with conviction. “Yes.”

“If we do, we’d definitely have to rearrange the house.”

Another snort. “If that’s the only thing holding you back, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Jyn smiled, trailing her fingers down his arm, and shook her head. “It can wait.” She eyed him. “Don’t know what you’re waiting for, though.”

Cassian laughed and crowded her, and Jyn smiled and was happy.


	7. My Favorite Color Is You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'd think by the chapter title this one is all cute and fluffy - and it is! Kind of. I mean, you can't have cute and fluffy without a mild existential crisis, can you?
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The moment Bodhi’s mouth closes, he’s naming every deity he can think of and praying that his cheeks don’t reflect just how embarrassed he feels. They’re definitely red, but if he names enough different gods and goddesses from all the pantheons, one or two will take pity on him. Statistically, at least.

Then again, nothing stopped him from asking the stupid question to begin with, not even his own brain or mouth, so maybe there was no point in asking. If stories were to be trusted, they’d probably just try to embarrass him more. That seemed the type of things deities were keen to do.

Of course, he wasn’t even a member of any of these pantheons, so really, what was the point in asking or not asking anyway?

“Green,” Luke says through a laugh, oblivious to Bodhi’s mild existential crisis. “My favorite color is green.”

“That’s a, uh, good choice,” he stammers, relieved that Luke went along with it. The embarrassment doesn’t fade, but he goes through and thanks the gods and goddesses anyway, because even if he can’t say they helped him or not, he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful and incur their wrath.

Later, he’ll have to do a lot of soul searching or something to figure out this whole deity situation and his thoughts on it, but for now he’ll just be happy Luke doesn’t think he’s an idiot.

He’d also have to ask Jyn and Cassian about how to date someone you’ve been friends with a long time to save himself further embarrassment. Because asking someone’s favorite color wasn’t a terrible first date question. It was just a terrible first date question when you’ve known the person for years and kind of knew the answer.

He likes Luke, has liked him for years. They’ve been friends for so long Bodhi isn’t sure when liking Luke as a friend developed into a crush, but he knows _that’s_ festered for quite a while. He hadn’t expected Luke to say yes to a date, and yet, here they were. 

And Bodhi is absolutely blowing it.

He gets that not everyone can go from friends to lovers the way Jyn and Cassian had, or even Han and Leia had. Still, he’d seen their successes and though maybe, maybe he could do it. Maybe if he asked Luke on a date, he’d say yes, and they could make the switch too.

Luke had said yes, but the chances of a second date were looking nigh unreachable.

Which is why Bodhi’s fairly certain he combusts into a pillar of flame when Luke asks, “And yours?”

Bodhi swallows. “You don’t have to ask that.”

Luke blinks, confusion drawing his brow together. “But you asked me mine,” he points out, and where their legs brush under the table, Bodhi can feel Luke’s bouncing up and down rapidly.

“It was a dumb question,” Bodhi says, shame rapidly creeping up his cheeks. “I already knew.”

“I know yours, too. Humor me, Bodes.”

Bodhi grits his teeth and glares at the table. He was stupid, so, so stupid, to think that he and Luke could make the jump as easily as the others, as if everyone in their group was destined to end up together simply because they’d been friends for a while.

“I know this isn’t going how you expected,” Bodhi says at last. “I can shut my eyes, you can leave, and we can never talk about it again. I’ll pay, I don’t mind.”

“What?” Luke says. “Bodhi, look at me.” He imparts one final glare at the table and does. “What’s bothering you?”

The question is honest and kind, the type of thing that was to be expected of Luke because he exemplified those traits. It made him easy to be around and talk to, and almost impossible to ignore.

“I just,” Bodhi starts, fiddling with his fork, “I thought it’d be simpler. Cassian and Jyn, they make it look so easy. Han and Leia, too. But here I am, messing everything up with stupid questions. Seriously, I’ve known your favorite color for at least a decade, and I still ask it like a moron.”

For a moment, all is quiet. Bodhi can feel Luke staring at him and doesn’t dare meet his eye. It’s only when Luke clears his throat and waits that he does, and then, Luke smiles.

It startles Bodhi enough that he forgets how to breathe.

“You’re not messing it up,” Luke says, kind as always. “We’re not Cassian and Jyn or Han and Leia.” He pauses. “Actually, it’s a really good thing we’re not, because I’m sure they’d say their first dates went far worse than this one’s going.” He smiles. “I like being around you, Bodhi. So what if you know what my favorite color is and ask me anyway? It’s the kind of thing you’d expect on first dates, and it’s cute.”

Bodhi flushes. He opens his mouth and shuts it just as quickly.

“So,” Luke says. “I ask again. What’s your favorite color?”

Bodhi smiles.

“You.”

His cheeks are even redder this time, he’s sure, but Luke smiles, and laughs, and so does Bodhi, and he can’t find it in himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have lyric or story ideas, feel free to leave them down below. I can always use extra inspiration, plus I enjoy seeing what other people love in stories and music!


End file.
